


The Time That I Get

by PrincessDesire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Daddy Kink, Gift Exchange, M/M, PWP, Parent/Child Incest, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 00:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17011950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessDesire/pseuds/PrincessDesire
Summary: John and Dean have sex.





	The Time That I Get

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrspadrona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspadrona/gifts).



The times that they have like this, alone, safe, and healthy, no Sammy, no monsters, no bullet wounds, these are the times that Dean fucking lives for. They’ll grow more frequent, he tries to tell himself, once Sammy gets older, starts being able to do shit by himself, but he doesn’t believe it. Ideals don’t exist in the Winchester universe. That, and, he knows his dad, his mentor, his lover. Does he really think that it’ll be some fucked up version of domestic bliss, out there on the road, hunting things, fucking violently, holding each other afterward? Nah, the only reason that it ever happens now is because of its rarity. John only lets himself indulge now and then because he’s a goddamn martyr, sacrificing his life and his children’s lives because he doesn’t want to pay any less tribute to his dead wife than utter destruction.

“It’s just you and me, Kid,” he says. Stating the obvious here is a form of starting gun. Let the games commence. Because John hasn’t touched him yet, not from the time they dropped Sammy off at a friend’s house, not in the car ride to the three and a half star hotel (Oh, he’s getting fancy with that extra star and a half tonight), and not even in the elevator, though Dean’s hoping he’ll make a move there, in the little upwards-traveling box.

One bed. There’s never just one bed. Dean wants to make it a sign of futures to come, he really does. He sits on it. Even his ass can tell it’s nicer than the usual fare. He makes eye contact with John, licks his lips. “Anything I can do for ya, Dad?” he asks, then cause the line is too cheesy, he smiles, enjoys the porny element. He gets off to porn, right? Nothing wrong with sounding like one.

John rolls his eyes, but he steps forward, drawn in by the unbreakable magnetism between them and the opportunity.

Dean pulls his t-shirt off, throws it somewhere and he’s giving John the ‘fuck me’ eyes. They’ve rarely failed in the past, and never with John, though maybe in part due to his good timing about when to use them.

When John stands in front of him, Dean is at eye-height with John’s chest, which is one of Dean’s absolute favorite parts when there isn’t a shirt obstructing his view. But, this has to go, like everything else, as Dad wants it. The pace is set by him. The activities are set by him. Dean just waits and wants, looking up at the face of the man he loves in so many complicated ways.

“Would you do anything I told you, Dean?”

Bedroom talk, reality, does it matter? The answer’s the same anyway, and he speaks it, the absolute truth. “Yes, Dad.”

“Get naked.”

Commands fall so easily from his lips, like he was meant to give them, and Dean follows, hands immediately working at his brown leather belt, like he was meant to take them. He opts to stay on the bed, lying back and pulling the pants off, so that John can see him like that, eager on the bed, stripping down at only his word. Soon, pants, socks, shoes, briefs, Sammy’s necklace, all vanish into the same place that the t-shirt went, a formless location outside of the immediate vicinity of the bed.

When he’s as he was coming into this world, he lies back on his hands, arms propped up behind, creating a pillow, and he tries the eyes again at John. They work.

“You look…” John starts. His eyes molest every inch of Dean, but they linger at some spots more than others. Dean’s lying on Dad’s favorite spot, but if he wants Dean to offer his ass up for closer scrutiny, all he has to do is say so. For now, he enjoys the flattery of the shifting glance. “Fuck, son, you look like a damn meal.”

Dean’s cock twitches at the compliment. It’s been hard since they started driving here, just knowing what was ahead. Foreplay for Dean could just be Dad saying yes.

Two fingers, middle and index, touch his ankle. If he were blindfolded he would know the touch just that easily. It’s harder to tell how coarse the hands are from just fingertips, but they're large and somehow grippy even while just lightly stroking. His dad’s hands always seem seconds away from just grabbing him. Sometimes they are. The fingers force his leg hair in strange directions as he travels them up to Dean’s thigh.

“You like how easy I get hard for you,” observes Dean. It’s something Dad’s said before, and hopefully will say again, but it’s also spelled out on his face, the small smile as Dean’s cock twitches from the tiny bit of contact.

“You do everything just right, Kid.” John’s voice sounds huskier, like he’s about to cough, but that’s just how it is when they’re alone. “You get naked for me and hard for me.” His hand moves higher, those two wonderful fingers trailing as delicately as possible up his cock. Dean pants a bit as the fingers swipe a drop of pre-cum from the head of his cock. John takes the drop into his mouth. “You get even get wet for me.”

Dean’s own mouth feels dry suddenly, from the want. There’s never a moment that he isn’t wanting Dad, but sometimes its so acute that it feels like he’ll actually die if he doesn’t get him.

“Can you show me my favorite spot?” he asks, again the smile returning to his face. “Show daddy that ass?”

With obedience and desperation, Dean rolls over onto his knees. God knows on his knees in front of John is his favorite place in the world. Hotels may not always wash the bedcover after every use, but they’re gonna have to after the Winchesters are done with it.

A sound of appreciation rolls out of John’s chest, a deep hum, that makes getting into the submissive position worth it. One of those strong callused hands that Dean masturbates to thoughts of touches one cheek. “Now this definitely looks like a meal,” says John and it’s only a second or two that passes before Dean feels the shifting of the bed, and then his father’s tongue licking at his asshole.

Dean moans, a ball of heat forming in his belly with tendrils down to his dick and balls. “Fuck, Dad.”  

John’s tongue, like the rest of him, is large and rough. It laps in big flat movements, like a dog drinking water, from the bottom of Dean’s ball sack up to the dip below his tailbone. Dean grips onto the pillows beneath his hands, lets his body just move like the slut that he is, hips following wherever the tongue goes. When they’d first started fucking, he’d tried not to seem so eager, so wanton, but when he’d seen how much it turned Dad on, he’d given that up, letting his ego be disintegrated for John’s lust. So, he moves, and whines, not even in exaggeration, just without restraint.

But, the tongue lets up and Dean suspects from the sounds that his dad is wiping his mouth dry with the back of his hand. “You taste fucking great. I could eat your ass all day.”

And Dean would let him, though he might go crazy in the process.

“But then, that wouldn’t be enough for you, would it?” asks John, like he’s in Dean’s head. “Eventually you’d start asking for me to fuck you.” John’s fingers return, only this time, they’re closer to midline, stroking over Dean’s hole in a petting motion. “You might even beg me to.”

Dean whimpers, because what the hell else is he supposed to do? John is totally right. He’d beg right now if John wanted him to, has before, as a matter of fact.

“Christ, you’re so perfect,” whispers John. “You really do want me to fuck you, don’t you?” One of the fingers slips inside the saliva-drenched asshole. It’s not enough, just a start, and Dean’s whole body backs up into John’s hand, begging for more. He’s shaking from the want of it.

“Yes, please Dad. Please fuck me.”

One time, they’d fucked clothed, cocks out of their zippers, just fucking into John’s hands up against the back wall of gas station in the middle of goddamn nowhere. Dean had looked into John’s eyes, had tried so hard not to even blink while he came, and his father had looked back right up until the orgasm hit. Dean had wanted to kiss him so bad, to tell him that he loved him, to fucking ask him to marry him or something, like he’d lost his goddamn mind. Instead, he’d just said “Dad,” over and over until it sounded like he was hypnotized. Tonight isn’t a night like that, with denim-obstructed gropes. Dad stops fingering him long enough to take off his pants. Dean watches from upside down, sees the shirts come off too. It’s hard to tell from the angle, and with his hard cock blocking his vision, but John’s chest is a goddamn masterpiece. It’s covered in hair and muscle and smells like if Chanel bottled a “man” scent. He’ll get his chance to sniff at it, lick at it, later, after dad comes.

When Dad comes back onto the bed, he grips the pillows tighter, ready for the pleasure that only his dad can give to him. Instead of cock though, he’s caught by surprise by John’s tongue. Again he laves all around Dean’s ass, sticks a finger in, then continues to soak his balls in long luscious licks. “Fuck!” Dean cries out. He hadn’t been expecting it, and now it feels too good, like the element of surprise had turned up his nerve endings to eleven. “Dad!”

From between Dean’s ass cheeks, John says, “Tell me it feels good, son.”

Dean’s practically hyperventilating from the sensations and the dirty words. “It feels good, Dad.”

Of course it does, John’s doing it. John fucks better than anyone.

Then the tongue and the finger go away, followed quickly by John swearing. “Fuck! Forgot to grab the lube.”

Well, John fucks better than anyone when he remembers the lube.

“Just fuck me anyway, Dad. I can handle it,” he offers.

John pets his backside before getting off the bed. “You’re so good to me. Such a great son, an amazing fuck, but I’m not going in you dry.”

While John fetches the lube from his satchel, Dean practically pouts. “Not very dry right now,” he says. He can feel the spit all over his crotch and ass. Then, there’s the matter of his cock leaking onto the bed. Dryness is not an issue. But, Dad cares about him, can be overprotective sometimes, so he ignores Dean’s griping, and returns with the lube.

“Hey, Baby Boy,” says John, hand resting atop Dean’s lower spine. “I’m gonna fuck you. Just hold on a minute, okay?”

The lube is cold, which is unpleasant, but Dad’s hand is anything but. His fingers group together, fucking the liquid into Dean. Dean moans again, loving the sensation of any part of his father being in him. Plus, Dad knows his angles, his big rough fingers finding his prostate. At first, Dean hadn’t liked his prostate massaged. It created a sensation of pressure inside him, like a headache in his pelvis, but then, he started finding that when he came that way, the pressure would release, taking with it every negative emotion or thought, well, all thoughts really. Now, he associates the feeling with his dad making him come, and fuck if he doesn’t love that.

Dad’s other hand moves to his balls, squeezes them lightly, pulling them the direction gravity already wants to take them. The combination compels Dean to make needy sounds.

“You’re so open for your Dad. Fuck, how did I get so lucky?”

Dean has ideas about that answer, but they are unsexy thoughts, so he keeps them to himself. Instead, he says, “Please, Dad.”

There’s almost no transition between fingers and cock, barely noticeable from a time-perspective, but the girth and the length absolutely are. Dad fucks slowly into him and it feels like it just keeps going, like there’s just a little more. John had said that to him, the first time they’d done this. “Just a little more. You’re doing so good, my sweet boy.” Dean had felt special and loved, and he’d wanted more, even though it was weird and uncomfortable. He’d have taken it dry that day too, if it would make Dad say those things to him more.

Tonight, there’s still a litany falling from John’s lips, things like “so good” and “tight” and “my boy,” no actual wholly formed thoughts. Just the ramblings of his lust-crazed father. For his part, he’s moaning and biting down on his own lip because it feels fucking incredible. His ass is completely full of John Winchester.

“Dean, is it good?”

“So good, Dad.”

Lube-sticky hands grab onto the outsides of his buttocks, leveraging them, pulling Dean back as John moves his hips forward. Dad’s cock is circumcised and the head is large, so when he pulls almost all the way out, it creates a ridge of friction. It drives Dean crazy and John knows it, that’s why he does it so much. “Fuck, never want to not be in you.”

Dean backs harder into his father, wanting to reward the statement that’s made him dizzy with love. “Then always be in me,” he challenges.

It’s John’s turn to gasp, either from the words or from the way that Dean’s ass slams back against him over and over. At this point, it’s pretty much Dean fucking Dad, rather than vice-versa. John’s just struggling to stay in place as Dean’s ass jounces up and down his cock. “Oh, son, too good. Too good!” he says, gripping onto Dean’s ass to hold it in place. Dean hears a laugh behind him. “Almost lost me there.”

“Want you to come, Dad.”

“I know you do. You’re good to me.”

John loosens his hold, moves slower in and out of Dean’s ass. Dean’s so busy concentrating on how it feels that he misses his dad’s intention as he leans forward and touches Dean’s cock with the hand not on his ass. Dean bucks into it. He loves Dad’s hands, loves the chapped texture and the way it feels on his dick. “Yes! Dad!”

“Good boys deserve to come.”

“Yes, Dad…. Daddy…”

John moans. Dean can tell he’s still close to the edge, still riled from Dean’s furious cock-riding before. He loves it when Dean calls him Daddy and Dean’s smart enough to only bust it out now and then, to really drive him crazy. “You gonna come in me, Daddy?”

John’s hips lose their rhythm and Dean can feel his body trembling with the pleasure. The hand on Dean’s cock is also erratic, also shaking even while jerking him off, like fucking a vibrating pocket pussy.

“Please come in me, Daddy.”

“Oh fuck, Dean!” That’s all it takes and John is slamming into him, cock pulsing deep within him. Dean can feel the throbbing. John’s hand is like a clamp working him like he’s milking a cow, determined to get Dean off even while he’s coming himself. Dean’s cock obliges, not that it needs much incentive; he’s seventeen, after all. He comes loudly, whether that be for his sake or his father’s is anyone’s guess.

John collapses on Dean’s back, a panting groaning mess, and Dean collapses onto the bed, knees not feeling strong enough to bear even his weight. Minutes pass as they recover from their orgasms. Finally, John rises. Time for a shower, he announces, leaving Dean alone in the great big bed.

Maybe once Sammy starts wanting a room of his own, a car of his own, they’ll be able to do this more often. Maybe then John will kiss him, tell him that he loves him. Maybe they’ll belong together the way that Dean needs. Until then, Dean, as in all other aspects of his life, takes what he can get.


End file.
